


Way Down

by Inu_Sama



Series: RICK AND MORTY FICS [2]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Bad Beth Smith, Child Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Slow To Update, Tags Subject to Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2018-10-28 13:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10832451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inu_Sama/pseuds/Inu_Sama
Summary: All he could think about was how quickly everything fell apart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue: To my grave**

Morty felt sick, like destroying his home wasn’t enough -- now he was burying his own dead body. All he could think about was how _quickly_ everything fell apart. He had just wanted the girl of his dreams to look at him as more than… well, Morty.

But with Rick getting involved, he shouldn’t have been surprised all his hopes turned to ash in his mouth. Because that’s what Rick does best, he may be the smartest man in the multiverse but that didn’t make up for the fact he was a shitty person. Not in Morty’s eyes. As Morty stared at the blood splatter he’d been absently scrubbing at for the past five minutes, he had a realisation.

A Rick may need a Morty, but nobody said anything about a Morty needing a Rick. He was needed for more than the mental shield he provided, no, it was also to keep Rick in check. Rick was unstable and he needed Morty to ground him, keep him from going too far. And now that he knew what his role was in this fucked up relationship, Morty wouldn’t let Rick do something like this again.

With renewed determination, Morty finished cleaning the garage and joined Rick and Summer in the living room.

‘Never again.’ he repeated to himself as he watched Rick take a swig from his trusty flask.

 

**Chapter 1: Bitter**

Morty was woken up rather roughly by an agitated Rick the next morning.

“M-morty! Get the f-fuck up! We need to--urrrp--go!”

Rick had started raving about the new Ball Fondlers’s episode as he casually spilled copious amounts of alcohol onto the carpet. Morty groaned, exasperated. Did Rick even know how hard it was to get that shit out of his carpet? Morty tried to breathe through his nose to calm down as he followed Rick into the living room.

As they sat down to watch some washy bachelor show with Summer, Morty finally took in his surroundings for the first time since coming to this reality. He knew there were an infinite amount of realities out there, thousands of Mortys, but he just couldn’t quite get over how surreal it was.  His home planet had been completely chronenburged, yet this reality was the exact opposite. The people went from _that_ to normal humans.

Despite that, everything was the same as the reality he’d grown up in. From the house, with its peeling wallpaper and old lounges to his arguing parents and disinterested sister texting on her phone non-stop. Rick was right in that they’d be able to slip into this reality without any problems and nobody had noticed the graves out back. Yet.

The graves…. Morty felt a shiver roll down his back at that thought. His own corpse was rotting in the backyard and nobody knew about it. His parents didn’t know that their original son was dead; Summer didn’t know she’d lost her younger brother. Morty tuned back into the conversation to find Jerry challenging Rick to a television-off. He refrained from rolling his eyes at his father.

The man was too proud and it often led him into situations where his authority would be questioned, then get all moody about it. It was a waste of time, honestly. And Rick only played along because he wanted to rile the man up.

“Fine, I’ll show you what _real_ television is--urrp--like.” Rick was saying, already tinkering with the DVR. With a satisfied grunt and a purple crystal now jutting out of the book-shaped device, Rick returned to the couch with a modified remote.

As time seemed to drag on, Morty found that he couldn’t keep his focus on the conversation and only barely registered the others leaving the room with one of Rick’s inventions. It was a few moments before Rick spoke again, his jovial tone seemed a bit forced to Morty’s ears.

“H-hey Morty! It’s Ball Fondlers time!”

Morty felt an elbow in his side, but could only stare at the blurred colours on the screen as the familiar opening theme of their favourite show started playing. Morty shook his head, annoyed at himself. Why was he acting like this? He needed to pay attention if he wanted Rick to behave. He struggled to focus, surprised when a bowl of cereal was shoved into his hands.

“Here--urrrp--eat up, we’re almost to the good part.” Rick informed, quieter than before as he settled back into the worn blue fabric of the age-old lounge beside him. Morty mechanically lifted the spoon to his mouth and began eating. The food helped keep him grounded in reality, so Morty just brushed the cotton covering his brain off as tiredness and lack of food. But he had a niggling feeling that it was something more serious than that.

\----------

Eating seemed to be the only thing that could make him feel normal again, but he got full after only a few bites so he couldn’t hold onto that feeling for long. And he didn’t feel like throwing up just so he could eat again, that would just be gross and unproductive. So he was left with few options, he could either ask someone for advice/help or he could try and fight it as best he could.

Morty knew Jerry would just offer useless quick-fixes he’d seen on tv and his mother would order him to go see a shrink. Summer would probably ignore him or tell him to ‘get over it’ and Rick…. It was sort of a mixed bag with him. He could laugh in his face or actually be serious for once and help his grandson. But Morty felt like admitting he was struggling was to be defeated.

And Morty was nothing if not stubborn, so that left him with dealing with it on his own. But it was like constantly being on the verge of sleep but fighting to stay awake; it was hard and all he felt like doing was letting it consume him. Would it really be that bad? To just let it all go? He was starting to feel like it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“.....--orty! MORTY!”

Morty startled at the sudden shout in his ear, recoiling from the source before he registered how _close_ Rick actually was. Their noses were practically touching each other. For some reason this made Morty incredibly uncomfortable and he hurriedly backed into the couch in an effort to put some distance between them.

Rick frowned, confused as his blue eyes flicked to the light blush on his grandson’s cheeks.

“Are y-you sick, M-Morty?” he asked, the kid was acting weird lately; spacing out, not eating as much as he should be, he didn’t even freak out when Rick did something obscene. Somehow, Rick failed to realise just how traumatising burying one’s own corpse would be for a 14 year old. It had been a long time since he’d had anything even _resembling_ innocence, after all.

Rick had seen it all, done it all, lived through it all. Of course he was a changed man after that, he wasn’t the most wanted man in the multiverse for nothing y’know.

Morty could feel a wave of panic wash over him. ‘Oh god, did he know?’ Morty thought frantically while outwardly trying to remain calm. Was his grandpa able to sniff out weakness like a wolf?

“Y-Yeah, maybe, Rick. I might just head on up to bed, t-try and get some sleep, y’know” He smiled faintly before doing exactly that, not waiting for a response. However, when he reached the top of the stairs his stomach churned violently and he had to rush to the bathroom across the hall from his room. Morty only just made it in time to empty his guts into the toilet. It felt like his body was trying to explode from the inside out with all the pressure against his skull as his sinuses joined the mushed up cereal in the toilet bowl.

In his rush, Morty had forgotten to shut the door and was grateful the rest of the family were all downstairs. They’d definitely think the worst. It was a few minutes before Morty had the strength to stand again. He quickly cleaned up all evidence before stumbling into his room. This time he remembered to shut the door. What was wrong with him? Was he actually sick like Rick had suggested? Morty didn’t know, but he also felt ashamed. If he was really just sick, then why did it feel so familiar?

Before Rick had portled into their life, Morty was alone. He couldn’t look at his family without feeling the pain of their neglect. He had no friends at school - in fact he had been heavily bullied. He would always come home with bruises or scratches, his clothes dirty or torn. Either his family didn’t notice or they didn’t care. Things had started getting better when Rick included him on his latest project, or the next mad adventure into another world. He thought those times were gone, thought he was better now that he had Rick; a friend or sorts.

But that didn’t seem to be the case anymore. There was a feeling in his gut that he knew what was wrong with him. It was happening again. Morty tumbled tiredly onto his bed, sinking into the blue cotton of his blanket as he kicked off his shoes. He was so tired. So….

Morty woke up several hours later to a dark room. The familiar shapes of his desk and bedside table did little to comfort him as he sat up. A yawn stretched his jaw painfully and he shivered, suddenly cold. Morty looked around - ah, his window was open. Morty was about to close it when he felt a pang of dread shoot through his veins like ice. He froze, looking down into the front yard. The road glistened against the street lamplight from what must have been rain. Everything was still, quiet, and somehow that unnerved Morty more than anything.

He was hungry again.

Abandoning the open window, Morty followed the narrow path down the stairs to the kitchen. He passed by Rick’s open door and looked in. He knew what he’d find; a made bed with a small crinkle in the sheets on one side where Rick had slept once, many empty bottles of alcohol littering the ground and stray metallic parts of a gadget he was working on.

It was the barely slept-in bed that had always worried Morty most. Morty was convinced, looking at those bottles, that the man was 85% beer by now. Eventually he made it to the kitchen, feeling his way around the walls for the switch. Suddenly light poured into the room from the garage and Rick’s silhouette leaned against the door jamb.

Neither of them spoke at first as Morty gathered the ingredients for a ham and cheese sandwich, his tired profile briefly illuminated by the fridge light. Morty ended up making two sandwiches, giving one to Rick after he followed the man into his lab. It was nice, these peaceful moments where they could just sit in silence together. There was no danger, no science babble that always went mostly over Morty’s head and strangely Rick didn’t seem to be drinking for once. Rick had taken the sandwich gratefully, eating it while he continued to watch his grandson. When Morty couldn’t ignore the penetrating gaze any longer, he finished his ‘wich and got up to leave. He was almost to the door when the silence was broken.

“Morty.”

Morty had never heard his grandfather sound so serious, he stopped but didn’t turn around. He could feel his limited energy wavering already and while it was nice to just sit with the man, he didn’t feel up to talking. Not tonight. But that apparently wasn’t what Rick had in mind when thin arms surrounded Morty and he was pulled back against a surprisingly warm chest. A rounded chin rested in his dark wavy hair as the older male sighed heavily.

It sounded like Rick wanted to say something - something important - but eventually all Morty heard was;

“Thanks-urrp-for the ‘wich, squirt.”

With that the mad scientist sat back down at his desk and resumed his tinkering, leaving Morty slightly dazed at the open display of affection. That was something Rick never did. At least he didn’t think Rick would do something like that, he didn’t seem to be the touchy-feely type. Regardless, Morty was almost dead on his feet so he headed back to bed. He got under the covers this time, taking off his jeans and replacing them with sweatpants. His trademark yellow shirt joined the blue jeans on his desk chair as Morty curled in on himself and once again gave himself over to sleep.


	2. A strange thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the long wait, it takes me a bit to get back in the mood for writing. Hope you enjoy it.

The next morning Morty wasn’t rudely awakened by his grandpa. Instead, he rolled over to find that the sun was shining high in the sky and his alarm clock had been turned off. Today was Monday, Morty remembered that much. He felt like he should be alarmed about missing school, but all he felt was a small sense of relief.

Yawning, Morty came downstairs to find the family gone and the house quiet. More relief shot through him, he was alone. He didn’t have to force a conversation or listen to the arguing, even Rick seemed to be gone. There were no adventures, no bullies, no expectations of him today. For the first time since coming to this reality, Morty felt a genuine smile curl his lips. He had just finished eating breakfast when he heard a noise from the garage. 

“Rick?” Morty called, abandoning his cereal in the sink to be washed up later. 

There was no answer, but that was nothing new. Rick sometimes had a laser-like focus when he was working on something. Curious, Morty made his way to the one other room he spent most of his time in since Rick had come home all those months ago. He opened the door to an empty lab, the silence twisting his stomach into a knot. He was about to leave when something cold slithered up his spine and settled itself behind his heart. He froze, unable to move as something shimmered in his peripheral. 

_ “Rick, please don't do this! I don’t want to do this anymore!” _ A tear-stained Morty cried from the metal table he was strapped down to in the middle of a room that was not the garage. He wasn’t solid, the other Morty, he looked more like the remnants of a ghost. The real Morty sucked in a breath when Rick came into view, looking much much younger than what he was used to seeing. 

_ “Stop being a baby, Morty. This is for science!”  _ Strangely there was no stutter or alcohol-filled burp to break up the words and it gave Morty the feeling like he had missed the last step going down the stairs. That brief moment of instinctual panic and foreboding left Morty breathless. This wasn’t his Rick, it couldn’t be. GhostMorty screamed when a syringe full of golden liquid was stabbed harshly into the vulnerable flesh of his neck and Morty winced.

What was this? It felt like a memory but surely this couldn’t have actually happened, right? He would definitely remember something like that. Before Morty could see anything more, the image dissipated and left him back in the lab where he could hear the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. The cold hand receded from his heart and Morty felt he could move again, so he quickly left the garage to flee back up to his room. He didn’t think he could handle seeing Rick so soon after something like that - even if it wasn’t real. 

He didn’t want to think that it was a real memory, only now coming to the surface after all this time - but it couldn’t be, right? Rick looked too young while Morty still looked the same. There was no way that Rick had aged  _ decades  _ in the months they had been together, he would have noticed. A knock on his door startled Morty out of his thoughts even as he uttered a ‘come in’ Morty felt panic seize him until he saw it was only Beth. Morty had only ever thought of her as ‘Beth’ and not the typical ‘mum’ he wanted. Not since he was four and she threw a wine bottle at him.

Mothers didn’t hit their children or come home late smelling of booze and anger. What was worse was that Jerry hadn’t done shit about it but yell at her, his words falling on deaf ears. He wasn’t  _ willing  _ to do more, Morty could tell. Jerry was scared of her. Morty resisted the urge to flinch at the deceptively soft smile she sent him as she came into his room, going no further than the threshold. He could tell she had no desire to stay long. He doubted she could keep the mask up long enough. The only reason she tried to act like a decent mother was because Rick had come home and she somehow thought that if everything was perfect he would stay with her forever. So she stopped drinking so heavily, stopped hitting Morty and tearing down his sister’s self esteem.

It didn’t erase what had already been done, though. Morty hadn’t told Rick, scared of how he would react - would he take his side or hers? Or would he  _ pity  _ Morty? To him that was worse, so much worse than what Beth had done to him. 

“Morty, honey? Are you okay? You’ve been sleeping all day.” The monster that called herself his mother asked, faking concern. Before she didn’t give two hoots if Morty was laying somewhere dead in a ditch. But playing along was something Morty had gotten used to, scared of things going back to how they were. So he nodded weakly and smiled. 

“Y-yeah, mom. I’m fine, I guess I was just up too late helping Grandpa Rick.”

His mother smiled again in understanding, knowing that this was a regular occurrence even if it made her jealous. 

“Well, alright then. Just make sure you go to school tomorrow okay? I mean it.” She said sternly and Morty felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. He nodded quickly and she finally left him alone. Morty breathed a sigh of relief and flopped back onto his bed, reaching up to message the tense muscles in his shoulder. He was too stressed, he needed something to do - get out of the house for a while. The opportunity presented itself when he heard Rick coming up the stairs a while later, mumbling to himself.

He needed an adventure, something easy that didn’t involve murder or anything like that. Morty was somewhat surprised when the footsteps went straight passed his door and into the room across the hall before the door shut. That was highly unusual. If Rick had nothing for him to do he would at the very least come in to rave about his day or this new device he’d invented. The fact that he didn’t, coupled with the memory/vision he may or may not have had, left Morty on edge even more than before. After seeing Beth, Rick felt like a fuzzy teddy bear and Morty was willing to shove the weird dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach to the wayside if it meant Rick would take him away from here for a while.

Before his thoughts could catch up to his body, Morty was already at his door with his fist raised to knock. 

“Rick?” He asked tentatively, opening the door a crack - only enough to clearly hear the man’s muffled _ ‘get in here already’  _ before opening the door all the way and stepping inside. For once Rick was sprawled out on his bed, not a beer bottle in sight. His lab coat was carelessly thrown over his desk chair and his boots by the foot of the bed. A lazy arm patted the other side of the bed, getting more insistent when Morty didn’t move at first. The teen sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.

It looked like Rick was on the tail end of his insomnia and minutes away from finally getting some much needed rest. It made Morty want to apologise and leave him to it. He obviously wouldn’t be up for an adventure right now. 

“W-What’s got y-you lookin’ so const-stipated?” He asked, one blue eye fixated on his grandson’s face. Morty sighed again, feeling like that was all he was able to do these days. He could already feel the earlier spike of fear-induced adrenaline fading, leaving behind hollow bones and a cold sort of ache. He looked over at Rick, who was just barely holding onto consciousness and made up his mind. If he couldn’t go on an adventure, he would at least be able to avoid Beth and the others if he stayed in here.

God knew that the others would never willingly step foot in the proverbial dragon’s den. It was the same with the lab, hovering at the edge between linoleum and concrete. So Morty layed down, not bothered by the lack of pillow, and closed his eyes with a tired sigh. 

“Nothing’s wrong, Grandpa.” He mumbled, for once not stuttering. Morty gave a surprised squeak when he was bodily shoved up against a warm chest as a thin arm draped over his hips while the other played with his hair. 

“Go to sle-sleep then. M’tired.” And Rick gave a sigh of his own.


	3. Thinly Cut

When Morty next woke up, it was to a softly snoring Rick next to him. At some point the man had rolled away from him and was pressed up against the wall. Even in sleep, Rick had a frown on his face, thin arms crossed as he curled in on himself. 

Despite it, he looked almost… vulnerable.

Morty glanced over to the bedside table, the clock there told him it was 3am in bright red numbers. Everyone would be asleep, this was the kind of time Morty appreciated the most. Before Rick, it was the only peace he would get; a respite from his ‘family’ and the bullies at school.

He stood, grabbing the thin scratchy blanket from the end of Rick’s bed. He draped it over the one man he owed his life to, the one man he could trust to keep his mother in check.

“Sleep well, Rick.” He whispered, closing the door behind him. 

The hallway was dark and quiet, all the other doors firmly closed, except the bathroom which had the light on. Morty went and relieved himself, making sure to keep the door closed when he flushed so it wouldn’t wake anyone up. He didn’t feel like dealing with the harsh words his mother would hiss at him right now. Because with his luck, it would be her that he woke up. 

When he was younger he genuinely thought that she waited in the shadows to pounce on him, just so she could take her anger out on him. But he’d soon realised he wasn’t that important, she valued sleep above the satisfaction of tearing him down.

Morty found himself at the entrance to the lab again, gripping the doorjamb to steady his shaking legs. Would he see another vision? He’d decided they weren’t  _ his  _ memories (if they even were memories at all) because  _ his  _ Rick would never do something like that. His Rick  _ cared  _ about him, Morty was sure. 

Still, it didn’t stop that cold hand from returning, from sliding up his sides like a lover and gripping his heart until Morty couldn’t  _ breathe _ . Light filled his world, like someone shining a torch into his face before moving on. There were bright spots in his vision, tiny black suns obscuring what was in front of him and he hurried to blink them away.

_ “Come, Morty.”  _ Morty jumped at the sound of Rick’s voice and looked over to see the same shimmery outline from before. GhostRick was leading a dead-eyed Morty through a metal door hidden behind a wooden panel in the wall. Morty gasped when he was transported to a large circular room with only a single chair. It looked like one of those freaky torture chairs in the movies, complete with wrist and ankle straps.

_ “Sit.”  _ GhostRick ordered, his Morty following obediently as the genius pressed a palm to a screen on the metal wall. Shelves with rows upon rows of glowing crystals materialised as if the wall had been nothing but a mirage. Morty gaped when GhostMorty was strapped into the chair and a helmet was shoved onto those familiar brown locks.

_ “I need to test that serum, Morty. Which means I need you to sit still and do what I say.”  _ GhostRick narrowed familiar blue eyes when his Morty didn’t respond. The harsh sound of skin hitting skin rang through the small room and Morty winced in sympathy. Life seemed to come back into those eyes as GhostMorty hastily nodded, cheek turning red as tears of fear gathered at the edges. 

_ “Good.” _ GhostRick crooned, possessively squeezing the back of GhostMorty’s neck. Said Morty whimpered and a look of distaste soured GhostRick’s expression. 

“ _ This is very important, Morty. If these nanobots work, I could make millions! Millions, Morty! _ ” GhostRick exclaimed, pulling out the first crystal, a bright pulsing red one, and shoved it onto the helmet. Morty stood there in utter horror, unable to really process what was happening. That was until, of course, his counterpart started screaming and bucking against the restraints, undiluted pain making the sound so much more terrifying to listen to.

What was worse, Rick just stood there, face impassive as he watched his grandson be tortured, waiting until the red faded from the crystal. When GhostMorty came out of it he was sobbing uncontrollably, begging for Rick to  _ stop, just make it stop! _

GhostRick seemed displeased and wrote something down in a holographic notebook, wrenching the dead crystal from the helmet to get another one.

_ “Hmm, maybe a different memory this time--yes this one should work.” _ GhostRick was muttering, but Morty caught it and he wanted to gag. 

_ Memories?! _ These were  _ memories?! _ Just what kind of stuff was his counterpart  _ put through _ to produce such horrific reactions? And  _ why  _ was Rick doing this? To his own blood? Morty was glad when the memory/vision faded and he was left retching in the cold darkness of the garage once again. 

On his hands and knees, Morty sucked in cool musty air, willing himself not to throw up. Thankfully, there wasn’t anything left in his stomach - he hadn’t eaten dinner - and so he was able to stand after a few minutes.

The house was still quiet, the only sound was Morty’s rapid breaths. Then his brain latched onto a different part of the memory and he turned wide eyes to the wood paneling next to Rick’s work desk. He had to know, if this was real - if they were his memories...

He had to know if his Rick was doing this--had done this, or was planning on doing this. With stuttering breaths and numb fingers, Morty tried to pry the wood panelling off the wall, like how he’d seen that other Rick do it. His toes curled in fear when the wood slid away to reveal the same metal door. Tears sprang to his eyes as he gripped the handle, surprised when it opened for him. 

Morty hesitated, he could still go back, forget the visions. This could just be a storage room, somewhere to put all of Rick’s junk that wouldn’t fit in the lab.

But...he knew it would always be there, in the back of his mind. That question….was it real? Was it his Rick that did it? Morty knew there were infinite timelines, infinite realities, some of them could have ended up like this. But, as selfish as it sounds, he didn’t care about any other Morty. He wanted--no,  _ needed  _ to know if his reality was one of them. 

Biting his lip, his heart in his throat, Morty pushed open the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo!   
> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Any suggestions? Maybe we could brainstorm on motivations, character reactions, plot lines? Critiques? universe lore? It keeps me motivated to keep writing as I always start of with only a vague idea of what I want - which would leave a lot up to debate!
> 
> So come! Discuss with me! I would highly appreciate it!


End file.
